


The Reception

by Noarev



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5623966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noarev/pseuds/Noarev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the gala celebrating the First Order's founding, Captain Phasma does her best to ensure that everything proceeds as planned and that all First Order officers act according to their rank. Her interaction with Kylo Ren brings the evening to an unexpected conclusion, one that Phasma brings to heed with utmost efficiency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reception

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juin/gifts).



“Would your lordship care to dance?”

Turning towards the diminutive ambassador, Captain Phasma instinctively evaluated him, before she smiled pleasantly and bowed. The image before her matched the dossier she had reviewed, from the ambassador’s reliance on pheromones as an unfamiliar scent wafted over her, and down to the slight mauve hue of his iridescent scale-covered skin. His identity established, Phasma accepted the offered appendage, expertly handling her way through the rows of claws and suckers that covered the diplomat’s palms.

“It is most pleasing to see that the First Order does not share the Empire’s reluctance to deal with non-humans.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, she steered them to the ballroom floor and signalled the orchestra, the music changing to match the ambassador’s homeworld. “I am sure that your grace approves of our choice.” Smiling innocently, Phasma stepped away from him, pretending not to notice how his smile faltered before he could catch himself. “Is this not your traditional dance to honour loved ones left behind while one fulfils their duty? It is such a wonderful sentiment to capture in song.”

“A fitting choice indeed,” the ambassador replied, his face beaming with false delight as he matched Phasma’s position. “Not a day goes by in which I do not miss my mate. Such is the burden we bear to make the galaxy a safer place.”

Content to simply smile in response, Phasma gracefully matched his footsteps throughout the dance, careful to maintain the correct distance between partners that was mentioned to be appropriate in the ambassador’s cultural reference dossier. Unable to find fault in the captain’s moves that would allow him to approach, the diplomat bowed to signal his desire to end their dance. “You would make a most formidable partner at court, your lordship. Not many outsiders acknowledge, or are aware, of the subtler cultural nuances in my people’s traditional dances.”

“Your grace is too kind.” Phasma nodded curtly in thanks and maintained the distance. “People often forget that there is more to being an officer than giving orders.” With a perfectly executed half-turn, she set a course towards the drinks table. “My compliments to your mate, I am sure they will be glad for your return.” Taking her leave of the flustered ambassador, the captain resumed her rounds through the crowd. It was a relief to see everything proceeding smoothly.

With perfect timing, her ceremonial gloves were exchanged for a fresh pair by one of the passing troopers, ensuring that every single trace of the ambassador’s pheromones was removed from her presence. It was one of the benefits of being a commanding officer that Hux seemed unaware of, Phasma contemplated as she passed by the general. At a nod from his captain, a trooper from the general’s guard detail offered to refresh the general’s glass, which he promptly returned filled with a watered down version of Hux’s favourite drink. The general was unlikely to notice given the passion with which he was arguing in favour of the better future offered by joining the First Order.

She had almost completed her rounds when a voice called out from the shadows cast by the massive ballroom staircase. “Is there a time when you are not on duty, captain?” Kylo Ren’s voice lacked the deep harsh efficiency offered by his helmet’s voice synthesizer, yet Phasma did not find it missing in quality. “Your duty never seems to cease.”

“Nor does yours seem to begin.” Her tone matched the tension in her stance, Phasma coolly taking in Kylo Ren’s use of the bench built into a small alcove. “We are meant to represent the First Order at such events, not skulk in the shadows.” Disregarding the knight’s frown, the captain closed the gap between them and removed the glass from his hand, leaving Kylo Ren sprawled emptyhanded on the bench. “We shall dance.”

A trooper passed them by and Kylo Ren was left to look on mournfully as his glass of vintage Corellian port disappeared into the crowd before falling in behind Phasma who was already heading towards the ballroom floor, her determined steps pounding against the polished flooring. There was no use in arguing with the captain once her mind was set. That had been established during one of their first discussions following their introduction. It was not public repercussions that he feared. Not as long as they were to act as the First Order’s representatives. Yet there would be consequences. The ache between his shoulders reminded him of that when he moved briskly to avoid brushing against an overly enthusiastic diplomat.

“Are we to circle each other in a failed courtship attempt? It is not every day that the First Order needs to fend off the advances of a lecherous diplomat.” His sneer made Phasma wish they were on the training deck instead of a ballroom, yet she also had to fight a budding smile. “That was a very subtle solution,” Kylo Ren admitted as he fidgeted in front of the captain.

The music changed to a soft Corellian melody that startled Kylo Ren. Short, deep breaths caused his chest to rise and fall rapidly, his thoughts no longer on his surroundings until Phasma closed the gap between them to him, her hand taking his in her grasp. Turning quickly to face the captain, he found himself drawing closer still when her free hand settled on the small of his back.

 “There seems to have been some misunderstanding in the melody requests the orchestra received,” Phasma offered, firming her hold on Kylo Ren’s lanky figure. “I was not aware that the fidelity dance was part of the available repertoire, we shall have to modify the ambassador’s dossier accordingly.”

Seeing Kylo Ren smile worried her before he even opened his mouth to speak. “ _That_ I have problems believing.” Moving his hand to the back of her shoulder, he matched her pace when the melody’s tempo increased. “Captain Phasma does not omit or is unaware of her troops.”

“Perhaps we should keep a steady supply of Corellian port aboard,” Phasma retorted, unable to help herself while also making a note to ensure no such thing happened. “There are some operations that I entrust to others.” Noting Kylo Ren’s involuntary eyebrow arch, she amended. “Given sufficient time and training, of course.”

The grace with which Kylo Ren responded to her lead across the ballroom floor pleased the captain. Unlike their time spent sparring, the knight’s coordination did not come across as lacking. His timing matched hers perfectly. The grip on her shoulder was relaxed and…Phasma straightened her posture and increased their tempo to keep their focus on the dance. Kylo Ren’s hold tightened in response.

“This is…” Kylo Ren’s eyes sought hers briefly before he turned to look out over the crowd, his hair brushing against Phasma’s cheek as they changed direction. “It is more pleasant than I expected,” he whispered, his deep voice softer than usual.

 _Pleasant_ , Phasma thought, _is a good word_.

She too found the weight of his hand pleasant in hers and it was enjoyable to run her fingers along his lower back as they danced, to feel his body tense and relax as she guided him through the dance steps. Even the soft touch of his hair had been unexpectedly agreeable. It triggered several different impulses that Phasma efficiently brought under control when the orchestral melody reached its final crescendo. There was a fine discipline to the Corellian waltz that she appreciated.

“Ah, it seems that the finale is approaching.” Moving to disengage, Kylo Ren was surprised to find his body held fast against Phasma. The arm around his waist drew them closer while the captain’s right leg slipped between his, their thighs brushing as she tripped him. Caught off-guard by her move, Kylo Ren braced himself for the familiar impact with the floor only to let out a strangled yelp when his fall was arrested by Phasma’s strong arms into an elegant dip instead. His hair fell back loosely, leaving his face exposed to her eyes as his cheeks began to warm up in defiance to the outrage he wished to be feeling. Instead, he could only look into those blue eyes and feel his chest tighten and his heart beating faster with his true self left completely bare before Phasma’s calculating glare. “You…” he began to say before his voice cracked and he pressed his lips tightly shut, refusing to compromise his aloofness any further than it had already been by his accepting the captain's invitation.

“We shall practice close combat during our next sparring sessions.” The captain’s neutral expression made the situation feel even more difficult to bear as she supported him back to his feet. “Perhaps that will improve your reaction in the future.” The burn in Kylo Ren’s cheeks seemed to engulf his eyes and the knight blinked rapidly throughout the closing steps before the melody drew to a close and Phasma’s hold on his hand loosened enough to allow his swift departure.

The commander’s quiet sigh was the only pause she allowed herself before resuming her rounds through the crowd, her focus on the clack of her boot heels against the ancient floor rather than the compliments presented by various diplomats. A ceremonial gala organized at general Hux’s ancestral homestead had seemed like a preferable affair to celebrate the First Order’s anniversary before Phasma had seen the property plans and the guest list. Only the general’s insistence had prevented her from altering both the estate and list to match her preference in terms of security. As it was, the hundreds of guests gathered at the estate only clamoured for each other’s attention and got in the way. Clenching her jaw subtly, she made her way through the clusters of delegates and diplomats, taking note of her troopers and the report signals.

One in particular caught her attention, a disturbance in the gardens, an area kept off-limits to all but First Order personnel. Issuing a few discrete signals, Phasma fell in among the troopers manoeuvring through the crowd to create a path for their captain as she pursued her goal into the garden. Away from prying eyes, it was considerably easier to make out the signs of Kylo Ren’s passage.

Shattered cobblestones and upturned floral arrangements formed a clear path for her to follow on her search for the young knight. Ahead, in the darkness, Phasma could make out the wounded snarls that she had been expecting. Mixed with them was the sound of pottery shattering against solid walls and trees groaning. Moving into the clearing arranged for general Hux’s private gardens, she took note of Kylo Ren’s dishevelled appearance and stepped into the open.

Strong currents began to tug at Phasma’s ceremonial uniform as she moved towards the brooding figure at the centre of a shifting whirlwind of stones and twigs. She ignored the faint scratches some made on her cheeks and carried on forward until she could reach out and place her hand down on Kylo Ren’s shoulder. In an instant, the debries dropped to the ground, leaving only the two of them standing in the ravaged clearing.

“General Hux will be most displeased to learn of this incident.” The knight’s shoulders dropped and Phasma tightened her grip, fingertips digging beneath Kylo Ren’s collarbone. “I believe he referred to this garden as his sanctuary,” Phasma continued in a measured tone. Turning a shard of pottery over with the tip of her boot, she surveyed the damaged clearing, all torn apart with the exception of a chipped stone wall. “You lost control.”

With a furious snarl, the knight turned around to face her and quickly drew back when he noticed the red droplets marring the white uniform jacket. Before either realized what was about to happen, he reached out and plucked a loose leaf trapped in Phasma’s hair, his fingers lingering briefly before the captain drew to her full height. Her finely sculpted jawline tensed and Kylo Ren prepared for her to leave him alone in the darkness, surrounded by broken pieces. Before he could react, her gloved fingers were tangled in his hair and the captain had stepped up close instead.

It was close enough for him to feel strange stirrings in his chest, to feel warmth engulf him as if his lungs failed to draw in enough air to keep from suffocating. It was enough for the world to fade from view and be replaced by the infuriatingly fascinating way Phasma’s smooth jawline tensed, how her muscles flexed against the dress uniform’s tight collar. A small snarl formed on his lips, one that Phasma crushed when she brought her forehead sharply against Kylo Ren’s nose before he could move forward.

“Control is not to be underestimated.” She lectured, a sharp tug of his hair pulling the knight off balance enough to not see the quick jab to his mouth coming. “It is not to be ignored.” Phasma continued through the speech even as she spun and tripped him yet again, this time not putting a stop to his fall. “Control is paramount for success.” In conclusion to the lesson, she pulled Kylo Ren to his feet and arched her eyebrows in what amounted to an approving smile when the knight tensed for another blow.

Unwilling to disappoint, she drew him in by his collar and changed his momentum only at the last moment, a gloved hand already moving to sink into Kylo Ren’s hair as she held him close. “Have we an understanding of control and consequences?” Taking the knight’s silence for an answer, Phasma tugged his head back and sank her teeth into his bottom lip, savouring both the pained snarl and the faint metallic taste that filled her mouth as she led them into a kiss. In the little space left between their bodies, Kylo Ren’s hands moved against her chest, bracing against her solid figure.

 Their kiss broke with them both gasping for air and Kylo Ren making his own hungry move for the captain’s lips only to be driven against the remaining decorative wall. Phasma’s hands moved over his body, locking around his wrists and pulling them above the knight’s head. Her arm barely tensed under the jacket as she held them pinned there one-handed. Her freed hand moved against Kylo Ren’s chest, pushing him against the stone until he ceased fidgeting against her hold.

“Why?” The knight’s question was met with silence. His throat swelled as he swallowed drily, head scraping against the wall. Just beneath his jawline, Phasma’s teeth teased his neck, easily leaving her mark on Kylo Ren’s pale skin. “You should fear me,” he breathed out, body arching out to quest for her touch only for the captain to pull away. In perfect silence, Phasma continued her lesson.

Her teasing bite became a kiss. The kiss turned again into a bite when she moved her focus yet again to Kylo Ren’s bleeding lip. A firm, finely muscled thigh slipped between the knight’s legs and made him groan as Phasma grinded it against him. Under the captain’s touch, his defences fell and there was no reason to pin Kylo Ren down any longer beyond Phasma’s own desire to see him strain after her whenever she moved away, his soft moans turned into whines in her absence.

Their bodies responded to one another and Phasma’s own breathing picked up as Kylo Ren tensed and closed his eyes, his anger lost to the captain’s caress. His hips moved faster against her grinding, his lips parted each time he moaned and Phasma savoured the kisses she could freely claim to mark her conquest of the knight. A few moments was all it took for Kylo Ren’s shoulders to arch back and his breathing to stop while his thighs closed against the captain’s leg and she felt him throb against her firm touch. His anger brought to heel, Kylo Ren slumped against her and Phasma held him.

Dropping a glove to the ground, she ran fingertips more used to a trigger’s metallic coolness against warm flesh. The touch was brief and both froze at times, allowing the silence that surrounded them to comfort both their minds before her nails ran down the back of Kylo Ren’s neck yet again. Face buried against her shoulder, the knight’s words were muffled almost as deeply as if uttered behind his helmet. “That was their dance,” he muttered and Phasma ignored the light dampness that spread through the uniform’s fabric. “He always claimed to hate it, yet danced it anyway. It made me so…” The words failed to come, yet Phasma could hear them clearly in her thoughts. She could hear him be confused and angry at himself, at the universe. It left him vulnerable and that was something she would not allow to happen. “Why are you not afraid?”

Pressing her lips against his forehead almost tenderly, she ran her hand into his soft hair yet again, letting it curl between her fingers as she closed her grip. “Because I have control,” she started, the tug on Kylo Ren’s hair almost gentle as she pulled his face away into a kiss of metal and salt, ignoring his soft hiss when their lips pressed together. “And yours needs work.” She made no promises and he needed none. Both knew that Phasma would never let her own down.

Stepping away slowly, the captain looked down at the knight. “Your duty never ends,” he whispered, voice rough with emotions.

“And yours needs to begin,” Phasma answered, holding out her supposedly ceremonial blaster. “A tragic power conduit explosion report can only be so convincing based on words alone.” Turning away, the captain began to walk towards the ballroom. “I suggest a full tilt charge at the fountain’s base according to diagrams.”

The flash of blaster bolts in the night chased the shadows away briefly. Keeping her steps even, she carried on away from the path she knew her troopers would take to investigate the blasts. Another set of steps joined hers and the comforting weight of a full holster settled against her hip as Phasma walked on.

“Perhaps we could dance again sometime, captain.” Kylo Ren’s measured tone suited his role as an officer and knight. “I believe there is a training session slot available tomorrow.” Unseen by anyone, Phasma allowed herself a brief smile before they continued to walk in silence. The prospect of Kylo Ren’s closeness was, she felt, agreeable. Perhaps it could even be.. _.pleasant._

 _*_ ~* The End *~*


End file.
